


how to be a person in the world

by Bluebluebaby



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Chloe and Nadine kill fash!, F/F, am i late to this pairing absolutely but better late than pregnant, and then they fuck as they should, slowish burn, what's a bit of pining between friends and treasure hunting partners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:40:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28815768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebluebaby/pseuds/Bluebluebaby
Summary: in which: Nadine figures out who she is without the weight of her father's expectations, learns to accept kindness as a gift without strings attached, and gets both a stab wound and the girl.
Relationships: Chloe Frazer/Nadine Ross
Comments: 26
Kudos: 96





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> uh thank you @elainebarrish for sending me down this rabbit hole, you are an icon and a treasure. 
> 
> title is a nod to my favorite advice book a+++ would recommend if you exist on the corporeal plane.

Nadine had expected to feel something a bit more momentous upon abandoning her family’s legacy— sorrow, or grief. Joy, even. But when she makes her decision (out loud to Chloe, before she can overthink it, really), all that moves through her body is a quiet relief, the unburdening of a weight that was already dragging on the ground. 

After celebratory pizza and blissfully adequate hot showers, Chloe and Nadine lay side by side in a stiff, but cozy bed, staring at the ceiling as Sam snores loudly on the couch. 

“You’re sure? About giving up Shoreline for good?” 

“Positive. If we’re being honest.. I’ve wanted to be out for a while.” 

Chloe smiles, gentle and easy, and Nadine reminds herself to breathe, tells her heart to stay in her chest and out of her throat, reassures herself that this decision would have been the right one even if she were leaving mercenary work to spend the rest of her life folding shirts in retail. 

“Well, if you want a change of scenery, you should come see me in London. I’ll get you in with the artful dodger antiquity thief crowd, eh?” 

“You mean that? Really?” 

(Maybe it’s needy, to confirm like this, but Nadine knows people often make offers they don’t expect to be taken. She’s never been the kind to, but then again, her upbringing didn’t focus on the finer details of polite interaction. She wonders, sometimes, if she’d still prefer directness if she’d had any choice in the matter. Who she would’ve been without the weight of her father’s expectations. ) 

Chloe laughs, mock-offended. 

“I thought we’d moved past you calling me a liar at every opportunity, China.” 

“I wouldn’t want to impose— I have enough saved to get my own place for a while pretty much anywhere—”

“Well, at least crash with me and look at flats in-person, then. Whenever you’re ready. If we’re working as a team might as well have a common home base, yeah?”

“It’s an efficient choice, although maybe not the best for op-sec… although I would be okay to hunt for treasure without all the guns and goons against us, for a change.” 

Chloe yawns and turns on her side, the heat from her body radiating, warming Nadine’s skin. 

“You got it, babe.” 

Before Nadine can joke back, or reject the pet name, Chloe is asleep. Nadine counts her breaths, slow and steady, letting her own fatigue overtake her. 

_ 

Chloe insists on taking the tusk to the Ministry of Culture herself, and since Nadine knows she’s good for it, she doesn’t object, choosing instead to devote her energy to intimidating Sam out of pleading one last time so sell to a private buyer. 

The journey back to Cape Town is long and arduous, but a sense of purpose keeps Nadine from feeling too cross. She’s always enjoyed leaving home more than returning, but knowing this stop is temporary helps. 

She turns her phone off of airplane mode and sees a message from Chloe. It’s a selfie of her shaking hands with the culture minister (who looks less than thrilled to be photographed, but likely as charmed by Chloe as everyone else with a heartbeat), with the caption “ _ mission accomplished! Lmk when u make it back home x”  _

Nadine replies simply: “ **Just landed. A 45 minute taxi ride home, then zzz.”**

Chloe’s likely on a plane of her own by now, so she doesn’t worry about a response. She doesn’t have any other missed messages— all the people Nadine talked to consistently were at one point under her command, and she can’t remember the last time she was successful enough dating someone (or not mixing work and romance) to stay in touch after a trip away. 

It’s just her. 

Her flat is as sparse and practical as ever; she manages to eat a bland and nutritious dinner and stay awake long enough that she can fall asleep at an almost-reasonable time, getting a jump start on packing up the non-mercenary aspects of her wardrobe, thinking about whether she should burn her Shoreline gear here, or at her father’s house. 

She decides on the latter, in the morning, hauling black trash bags into the back of her Jeep, before setting out for what she’s always referred to in her head as “the compound.” 

It’s her childhood home, cartoonishly large for the two people who occupied it, and fortified with all the protections one would expect from a man who built a company of mercenaries up from the ground, making more than a few enemies on his way. 

Now, her father occupies only two rooms: the sunroom during the day, and his bedroom at night, accompanied always by one of a team of private nurses, the best money can buy. The tremors in his hands that made him push Nadine harder, faster, to take over younger than anyone ever thought she would have now overtaken his entire body. His speech is slow, and muddled, and his thoughts often incoherent. 

The nurse on duty today is new— Nadine’s never met her— but she greets her cheerily, clearly up to speed on who she is. 

(Her father does not get many visitors. She tries to visit at least once a week when she’s home, painfully aware that it’s both not enough and altogether more than he deserves.) 

“He’s having a pretty good day,” the nurse informs her. “Nice and lucid. You’re lucky.”

She bends down, whispering in her father’s ear, directing him to acknowledge her presence. 

“Hi, Dad.” 

He grunts (not altogether different from his acknowledgment of her pre-Parkinson’s, truth be told). 

Nadine thinks about all the little speeches she practiced in her head on the drive here, of how Shoreline was always his dream, not hers, how the death of her mother hurt them both but didn’t excuse the expectations he put on her, of how she will be perfectly happy never seeing him again. 

But to say these things would be only a means to her own catharsis. It’s a decade too late to make any points, change any minds. 

So instead, she says, “I’m going to be gone for a little while, just wanted to see you before I leave, ja? Thought we could listen to some records, have a cup of coffee.” 

He nods, and she picks up a well-worn album up from the shelf, engaging in the precise ritual of dropping the needle, pouring the coffee, sitting close enough for companionship but never intimacy. 

His nurse holds the cup for him, wipes away the drops that spill. 

If Nadine were in her position she’d be berated, torn down with impossible standards and vicious insults, but for this other woman, he’s docile, grateful for the assistance. 

It’s better for everyone that she goes, for good this time. 

Dad is tired after only side A, and the nurse helps him lie down for an afternoon nap. Nadine lingers, taking in the faded photographs on the wall— herself as a baby, held by her mother. The Shoreline team in its glory days. Her and her father, side by side, in matching fatigues. 

“You have your mother’s kindness,” he’d told her , time after time. “It’s your biggest weakness.” 

The nurse comes back out into the sunroom to see her off. 

“This was a goodbye visit, wasn’t it?” 

Nadine nods, hating herself for the pinprick of tears that springs behind her eyes. 

The nurse lays a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“We have your number, we’ll call, you know, when the time comes… if you want to make arrangements beforehand, that might make things easier. I know he was a difficult man.” 

“That’s an understatement,” Nadine laughs, grateful to have something to keep her from crying. “I hope you’ve been spared the worst of the drill sergeant tendencies. You definitely don’t deserve it.” 

The nurse looks at her with such clear compassion that Nadine swears her mother’s spirit has come down to make itself known. 

“You didn’t either.” 

_

At the nurse’s suggestion, Nadine takes a final walkabout of the grounds, allowing herself a bit of ceremony. She hauls the bags of old fatigues out of the Jeep, throws them on the firepit, and douses them in lighter fluid, before igniting the pile. 

She texts a picture to Chloe.  **Good riddance to bad rubbish, eh?**

Chloe responds with a picture of her own, eyes sparkling behind a steaming coffee mug. 

_ I’ll drink to that <3  _

Nadine sits by the fire for a while, until the clothes are all burned and the flames have died down to embers. The sizzle of steam as she pours water over them feels like a brand new start. 

_

It takes a few days to take care of the other business of adulting; ending her lease, forwarding her mail to Chloe’s address, finalizing burial arrangements for her father for whenever the inevitable happens. 

Chloe is in constant touch, which is nice, in a weird way. Nadine’s so used to doing everything on her own that the check-ins about what she’s done and how she’s feeling about it are strange, but not entirely unwelcome (from Chloe, at least. If Sam asked her about her relationship with her father she would probably dislocate his shoulder). 

She calls Nadine, the second night they’re apart, rolling right into conversation without so much as a hello. 

“So, listen, I don’t know how long you planned on spending down there, but there’s this fancy fucking gala next week and I know of at least half a dozen marks I can wine and dine and get to spill all their secrets about our next lead if I wear a low-cut enough dress. You in?” 

“Eesh, sounds like more of your scene than mine. Last time I was at one of those things I threw Drake out a window.” 

“God, I  _ know _ , why do you think I asked you? What’s a girl gotta do to see that kind of action?” 

“I was actually looking at flights to London earlier, but I think it will be after the weekend before I get over there. Shame I’ll miss seeing you all dolled up.” 

“Oh, I’ll dress up for you, anytime, love,” Chloe flirts back, and it’s _ easy _ , this rapport they’ve fallen into. Banter and hijinks and big grand plans. 

Chloe hears the strain in her voice, though, and abandons making fun of old men and their tuxes to genuinely inquire as to her wellbeing. 

“So, you saw your dad yesterday… how was that?” 

Nadine sighs, unsure of how much to divulge. She kind of feels like she owes Chloe her backstory, given how much she’d learned about her father. But she’s also fucking  _ tired. _

“You don’t have to tell me, China. Just… if you want, I’m all ears.” 

“You and Ganesh, eh?” 

“Nadine.” 

“He’s a very demanding man, my father. And, a very ill man, for the past couple years. It wouldn’t have been worth explaining everything to him, but I said goodbye.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Nothing to apologize for,” Nadine exhales. “Thank you, for giving me a reason to leave.” 

“You never need a reason,” Chloe reassures her. “When it stops being fun, get out, that’s what I always say.” 

  
  


“If fighting Asav was your kind of fun, I think maybe you need to get out more, Chloe.” 

“You know what I mean, love. It’s okay to cut and run when the reward stops being worthwhile. Sounds like your dad was lucky you didn’t sever ties sooner.” 

“Yeah, well, I’ll be an orphan soon enough, I reckon.” 

Chloe doesn’t ask about her mum, or offer her condolences. 

“You know, I’ve never met a treasure hunter who came from a happy family. We’re just a ragtag bunch of thieves with childhood baggage.”

“If you welcome me into your flat with ‘Consider Yourself’ I will book the next flight back to Capetown and you will never see me again.” 

“Oh, please, I don’t sing for free, love. Gotta buy me _ many  _ rounds before that happens.” 

“Right. Um. Well, I’ll see you on the 21st, then?” 

“With bells on.” 

Chloe sidetracks into some mundane story about lying to her seatmate on the flight back to London, hamming it up for her audience of one, and Nadine feels the tension of the day leaving her body, as she settles in and listens. It’s past midnight when a yawn escapes her, and Chloe insists that she sleeps. 

“Since when are you the responsible one?” 

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Chloe laughs, “I’ll be keeping you out at the pub til gone three in the morning just to prove I still can, you keep questioning my party girl bona fides.” 

“Eesh, fine. Good night, Chloe.” 

“Sweet dreams, love.” 

_

While Nadine’s brain has renounced her paramilitary life, her body still thinks she’s a soldier. She wakes early, feeling the pull to move, exert some of the restless energy that made her sleep fitful the night before. After a long run and an hour with the punching bag, she feels a bit more like herself and a bit less like a ball of anxiety. The closer she gets to her departure date, the more the nerves feel like excitement, instead of dread. 

She’s had a lot of time to think, with this empty flat and the death of all her prior ambitions. There’s so much she’s missed out on, despite the adventure and sometimes prestige of her career— carrying a gun as soon as it was legal, lieutenant at 20 and top dog at 25. Nadine’s never just… hung out with people, made friends for the heck of it. She’s rarely had an interaction with another human being that wasn’t predicated on an exchange of power. It feels strange, to admit to herself that she’s starved for human contact, but it’s true. 

(Not that she’s not entirely self-sufficient, thanks very much. She  _ can  _ be alone, just fine. But she’s no longer sure that she wants to.) 

Nadine culls her wardrobe of the last few things that scream “highly-trained killing machine,” save for her favorite well-worn pair of combat boots. A small reminder of who she was destined to be. 

Chloe, true to her word, sends a photo of herself in a red dress, ample cleavage aided by an obvious push-up bra. (Nadine is annoyed with herself for finding it so bloody attractive– if there’s one thing she always prided herself on compared to her men, it was sophistication of taste. Not that Chloe isn’t sophisticated, but she’s certainly using mens’ one-track minds to her advantage.) 

She… should probably respond to the text. 

**They’ll probably let you walk on out with every artifact in the place, no questions asked**

_ Aw, you’re sweet ;)  _

**Remind me what it is exactly you’re after tonight? Other than the hearts and wallets of London’s geriatric high society?**

_ Just confirming a few whispers about some coded maps the Vikings used to hide treasure, yadda yadda yadda. Solid payday AND an excuse to see the Northern Lights, if we time it right.  _

**You don’t have to sell me so hard on the partnership, Chloe. I’m in already!**

_ Nadine, love, the first thing you ought to know about me is that I never do anything I don’t want to do.  _

_ Ever.  _

Nadine believes that one. Chloe is… strong-willed, to say the least. (When she really sits and thinks about it, she’s kind of shocked they get along as well as they do, considering both their mutual stubbornness and its entirely different manifestations. Best not to look the gift horse in the mouth, though.) 

**Fine. Looking forward to hearing all about it in a few days.**

_ Still wish you were here :( could use a lil’ muscle to give them the evil eye if they get too handsy lol  _

**Ha! Pretty sure you can handle yourself just fine.**

_ More fun to watch you do it :(  _

**Eh, let me give Sam the asskicking he deserves and you’ll have a front row seat**

_ You drive a hard bargain, Ross. Ugh. Gotta go so I can hit that sweet spot when the geezers are drunk enough to be loose lipped but not entirely incoherent. Wish me luck!  _

Nadine smiles into her phone as she texts back her well-wishes, fully aware of how goofy she must look but unable to keep the grin off of her face. 

So, yeah, maybe she’s got a bit of a thing about Chloe.

(She’s pretty sure most people do. So she’s also pretty sure Chloe doesn’t notice.)

Chloe isn’t the reason she’s giving up on Shoreline, though, she’s just the permission. So even if this all ends up in financial ruin and heartbreak, she’ll still be  _ free. _

That night, Nadine dreams of Chloe in her red dress, moving in closer and closer as she reminds her, “you always have a choice.” 

_

Nadine realizes, as she gets dressed for the airport, finishes packing away her meager possessions in her suitcase, that she and Chloe have never seen each other in the flesh in a “normal” environment, where they weren’t covered in mud and sweat and cuts and bruises, dressed in barebones tactical gear. She opts for the closest ensemble she can find to casual: a warm, baggy navy sweater that mostly hides her upper body’s definition, black skinny jeans, and her favorite boots (more scuffed than shined in an act of psychological rebellion). She wears her hair down, hoping the combined effect makes her look more like a normal traveller than a mercenary without a mission. 

It’s a long, but uneventful redeye flight, landing at Heathrow in the early evening (although late fall means it’s pitch black outside). 

Chloe had insisted on picking her up (“I’m not going to have you riding the tube after a 12-hour flight that’s bloody nonsense”), and this time at least she’s not late. She hops out of the driver seat of her car (a deceptively practical Volkswagen, although Nadine’s sure she’s got much flashier vehicles at her disposal) to envelop her in a warm hug, despite the cold drizzle that’s begun falling.

“Nadine Ross as I live and breathe! A sight for sore eyes.” 

“Do you drive a Jetta as recklessly as you do a Jeep?” 

“Only one way to find out,” Chloe winks, throwing Nadine’s suitcase in the boot and ushering her into the passenger seat. 

Chloe weaves through the heavy traffic like it’s nothing, calm and collected even as Nadine grips the door handle. 

“You hardly look like you can kill a man with your bare hands in that kit, Ross. Scarier, in a way.” 

“We can’t all ride around in leather jackets and heavy eyeliner, eh?” 

Chloe laughs, and it’s so much different to _ feel  _ the sound, instead of just hearing it over the phone. 

“God, I’ve missed having you around to keep my ego in check.” 

“Ja, you’re lucky I’m here, could’ve been a truly dangerous situation otherwise.” 

“Well, listen, me and my big head have some solid leads on valuable Nordic artifacts, so, maybe show us some respect.”

Nadine hums, taking the chance to observe Chloe as she drives them through the wet streets, headlight glancing across the sharp planes of her face as they pass other cars. 

It’s a bit like seeing an old military colleague out of uniform, recognizable but unfamiliar. Chloe looks beautiful like this (she always looks beautiful; even as short a time as they’ve been acquainted Nadine knows this to be true), hardened and tough, trading in her Blundstones for engineer boots and wearing makeup like warpaint. She looks different from the Chloe that Nadine knows, and she gets this sinking feeling in her stomach, as if outside the magical bubble of Halibidu, whatever bond the two of them shared will be instantly broken. 

“You must be tired, huh? I ordered takeaway, we can have an early night. Won’t make you party too hard until tomorrow at least.” 

Nadine shakes herself out of her reverie enough to express polite gratitude. It’s still a bit of a surprise when Chloe’s considerate; for all the long talks and emotional support over the past week she’d still half-expected to be tossed a sleeping bag and told “you know how to cook, right?” upon arrival to her home. 

Chloe’s flat is fitting for a hip treasure hunter- it’s a repurposed old industrial building, all exposed brick and hardwood floors and the heating bill is probably massive but Chloe seems like she makes most of her life choices more based on vibes than practicality. It suits her, the enmeshment of history and modernity, effortlessly cool but not gaudily so. 

Historical texts litter her bookshelves, and various maps and prints line the walls; half art display, half reference library. The extent of the kitchen appears to be a kettle and an oven that probably doubles as storage space, and the dining room table is clearly used more for research and planning than meals, judging by the piles of notes and pens sprawled across the surface. 

“Home, sweet home,” Chloe sing-songs, giving her an abbreviated tour before ushering Nadine and her suitcase into a small guestroom, with a daybed by the window and a tiny closet.

“I know it’s not much but, well, still better than barracks, right?” 

“It’s lovely, thank you,” Nadine says, and she finds that she means it— something about the sound of traffic below, the feeling of disappearing in this nondescript building in this giant city feels safe. 

Nadine has been a soldier all her life, and now, now she’s just a  _ person. _ This is as good a place to figure out what the hell that means as any. 

“I’m glad you’re here, China,” Chloe trails her fingers from Nadine’s shoulder down to her hand, squeezing gently in reassurance. 

“Ja, me, too.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a lil bit of "oh my god they were ROOMMATES" pining, you know how it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to anyone who is reading this in the year of our lord 2021, bless you all <3

Without the urgency of a treasure hunt to keep them in sync, Nadine and Chloe keep different schedules. Chloe’s a night owl, rising late and staying up until the wee hours researching (or socializing, depending on the day), while Nadine’s body still wants her up before the sun, despite the utter lack of a good reason to do so. 

It’s not worth fighting, so Nadine uses it as a chance to explore, taking long runs through Chloe’s corner of London, noticing the different feeling of cobblestones and asphalt underneath her feet, the gradual changes as the city wakes up around her and the sun rises. 

Chloe’s usually still in bed when she gets back, so after a shower she makes coffee and has a mug waiting for Chloe when she stumbles into the kitchen. 

(Every day, Chloe takes a long, satisfied sip and says “I’m never letting you leave, this is absolute heaven,” and Nadine tries her hardest not to get her hopes up too much.) 

Chloe offers to give her the grand tour of the city, provide companionship during the day, but Nadine a) doesn’t want to impose and b) feels the need to have some alone time, to just _think_. She spends the days in museums— Natural History, Portrait Gallery, V&A, the Zoo; anything that isn’t war-oriented. 

(As a child, she’d accompanied her father on business trips on occasion. The closest they’d gotten to “fun” was touring historical battle sites, her father drilling military strategy into her young brain. Too much Hannibal, not enough elephants, in her opinion.) 

It’s comforting, to disappear in crowds of people, to take everything in without a clear objective. Nadine still enters every room with an exit plan, still assesses people as threats before she can observe them with any sort of curiosity, but she’s getting better at the art of _being_. 

Chloe usually asks for a synopsis of her day, her favorite painting or weird pedestrian sighting, but today, she’s on the phone when Nadine enters the flat, too absorbed in her conversation (on speakerphone, natch) to notice her. 

“I still can’t believe you’re partnered with Ross. Actually, I can believe that, I both fear _and_ respect her, but I can’t believe she’s partnered with _you_.”

Nadine recognizes that voice. _Drake_. The timbre of it makes her blood boil.

“Yeah, well that’s _your_ fault, mate. Had to work hard to undo the damage you’d done to my reputation, I’ll have you know.”

“Listen, you’re the one who said you’d be in if I ever got back in the game, but hey, I’ve gone legit, so clearly you’ve had to settle.” 

“Firstly, _Nathan_ , Nadine doesn’t get distracted staring at my arse.” She pauses, before mumbling, “Unfortunately.” 

“Oh, the good old days.” 

“Nathan, I carried your now-wife through the mountains of Tibet while she was bleeding profusely from a grenade wound, only to have you ditch me for her. I would not call those days _good_.” 

“And I’ll owe you one for it until the day I die. Don’t worry, you can still call in favors. Speaking of Elena, she’s got the info you wanted on the Norse treasure blah blah blah. Since when are you into that kind of stuff?” 

Chloe sighs. 

“I’m not explaining myself to you. Give me what you have.” 

Nadine realizes she’s full-on eavesdropping now and sets her bag down audibly, so that Chloe will think she’s just arrived. 

“Nadine! Come over here, love, Nathan’s got some intel.” 

“She’s _there_? Jesus, warn a guy.” 

“Drake,” Nadine scowls, sure that even if Nathen can’t see her face, he can picture it just fine. 

“Spit it out already,” Chloe laughs, clearly delighting in his discomfort. 

“Right, so, while there’s not generally a huge amount of interest in Greenland, or dealing with its climate enough to find any potential treasure, real low risk-return scenario there, there are a lot of right wing white nationalist types who love Norse and Pagan shit. Elena did a documentary exposing their movement a couple years back. They’re extremists, but unfortunately very well-funded. “ 

“Something tells me they’ll be less friendly to us than they were to your beautiful blond wife,” Chloe rolls her eyes. 

“I mean I figured you weren’t going to try to go undercover, just be aware of who you might be up against. These dudes aren’t retirees with metal detectors, you feel me?” 

“Hey, punching Nazis seems like a bonus to me,” Nadine laughs. 

“You sure?” Chloe furrows her brow in concern. “I know I said I’d try to find us leads that were less dangerous than going up against Asav and his men.” 

Nadine shrugs. 

“Probably best not to go cold turkey on the whole hired gun life. If I can’t fight a Drake, any old white boy will do.” 

“Listen, Nadine, despite our past differences, I think we share many personal values!” 

“Relax, Drake. I’m kidding. You’re a funny guy, you of all people should be able to take a joke.” 

“Oh, what’s that? The baby’s crying, better go. Bye, Chloe!” 

He hangs up abruptly, before Chloe can properly say goodbye. She shakes her head. 

“You _really_ did a number on him. I mean, I believed it, but witnessing the impact… good stuff, Ross.” 

“I like to think most men fear me.” 

“As they should,” Chloe laughs. “Men fear you, women… also fear you.” 

“Not you, though,” Nadine rolls her eyes. 

“That’s because I know deep down, you’re a big ol’ softie.” 

“And if you tell Nathan Drake that I’ll kick _your_ ass.” 

“Easy tiger, I might enjoy that… As long as you don’t get me in the jaw again.” 

Nadine begins to apologize (for the tenth time) but Chloe cuts her off. 

“I deserved it, Nadine. I mean, as much as anyone can deserve to be punched, and clearly we’re not practitioners of nonviolence. Anyway. God. Nathank Drake, huh? I know it’s old news now, but him being a father never ceases to blow my mind.” 

“What? You didn’t think you two would get married and have babies?” 

Nadine’s joking, but Chloe looks pensive. 

“You know, actually, for the smallest bit of time there, I really did think we _might_ . That maybe we were in love, or _could_ be, and I’d get the happy bloody ending. I mean, obviously now, I’m thankful that didn’t happen, I would’ve killed the man, but yeah, for a moment... “ 

She spends a moment lost in the memory, before turning the question on Nadine. 

“What about you? You ever thought you wanted to settle down with someone for keeps?” 

For all their jokes about men, they’ve never broach the subject of love with any degree of seriousness. But Nadine feels like she owes Chloe the truth, after her forthcomingness and vulnerability on the subject of Nathan Drake, of all people. 

“Ja. Once.” She pauses, thinking about how much of the story to divulge. “I went to university for a few semesters— it didn’t work out, had to drop my classes to help with Shoreline, but um, I met someone there, and she almost convinced me to get out. Away from my father, run off together, the whole deal. Many days over the past fifteen years, I wished very much that I had.” 

Chloe doesn’t flinch at the mention of the pronoun, doesn’t clarify that all her flirting over the past months has just been a joke, actually, between two ostensibly straight women. Instead, she just takes Nadine’s hand between her own, rubbing her thumb gently across her knuckles. 

“Never too late to take that first step, yeah?” 

“Hope you’re right.” 

“I’m _always_ right,” Chloe grins, and Nadine decides to believe her. 

_

After a few days of letting Nadine sulk and wander by herself, Chloe asks her to come out to meet some friends (all in the business, no need to pretend to be “normal”) and Nadine obliges. She knows she’s been a bit of an Eeyore, trying to spend enough time in her own brain to sort out what’s going on in there without all the noise. After all the kindness Chloe’s shown her, she can play nice for a night. 

They meet a group of five rough-looking men at the pub, and Chloe is in all her “not-like-the-other-girls” glory. A burly bald man (Charlie Cutter, Nadine reminds herself, cementing the connection of face and name in her mind, although she’d read about him in doing her due diligence on Chloe) is close enough to Chloe to needle her endlessly. 

He’s a bit older, probably at least by a decade, and when given Nadine’s surname, makes the connection to her father. 

“Mean bastard, tough as hell, that one. Wouldn’t want to be up against him in a fight.” 

“Apple didn’t fall far from the tree,” Nadine shrugs, more than happy to lean into her well-honed intimidation skills. The scrawnier men balk a bit but Charlie is more interested in teasing Chloe. 

“Nadine, I’m surprised you’re getting sleep at all, staying with Frazer. Usually when she comes back from a successful find she’s pulling a new bloke every night in celebration.” 

Nadine laughs, though she’s wincing internally at the image (not that Chloe isn’t perfectly entitled to bed whomever she pleases, she’d just be lying if she said she weren’t jealous). 

“Well, considering her taste in men, I’ll just hope I stay lucky on that front.” 

Chloe elbows him in the ribs. 

“First of all, they never come to my place, a good thief always has an escape route, mate. Second, _Nadine_ , those in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones when it comes to fellas. I’ll have you know my taste in _women_ is _excellent._ Thirdly, Charlie, would you believe that I’m a changed woman?” 

“No,” Cutter scoffs, and Chloe laughs so hard she shakes the table. 

“Piss off and buy me another drink.” 

Nadine surmises over the course of the evening that Chloe has slept with at least three of the men present tonight, although clearly none of the involved parties have any lingering awkwardness about the history. Nadine had never actually had sex with any of the men she’d worked with— let a man explain things you already know and he’ll convince himself you’re in love with him, you don’t even have to take your top off— but for Chloe getting off on a job is like scratching an itch, apparently. 

(“ _Relax, you’ll live longer_ ,” she reminds herself, when the thought makes her clench her pint glass a little too tightly.) 

With every drink, Chloe becomes a bit touchier, leaning against Nadine’s shoulder, or twisting their fingers together. She’s tipsy but not too far gone. Nadine doesn’t trust any of these people enough to do more than nurse a beer, but she’s had worse nights, all in all. 

Still, when it’s after midnight and Chloe is on the verge of sitting in her lap, she decides to call it an evening, making the excuse that she’s still two hours ahead on Cape Town time, and Chloe obliges. 

They walk back to the flat, the cold air sobering Chloe up a bit, though she’s uncharacteristically quiet, humming a bit to herself. 

Before turning in for the night, Chloe wraps her arms around Nadine’s neck, her breath hot and sticky (and hoppy) as she plants a sloppy kiss on Nadine’s cheek and whispers in her ear. 

“Thanks for being my date tonight, China. You’re a catch.” 

“Anytime,” Nadine reassures her, before retiring to her own bed and staring at the ceiling, analyzing every word she’d spoken or heard this week, wondering if Chloe’s map has the same key as her own. 

_

Two weeks into her stay in London, Nadine’s absorbed enough exhibits (and people) to feel a little more grounded, a little less like a caged animal let loose on the world for the first time. She feels ready to train, on her own terms, so she swaps her morning excursions for a few hours at a kickboxing gym , preparing herself for the eventuality of hand-to-hand combat on their next trip. She runs there and back, because a few extra miles never hurt anyone, and is thoroughly sweat soaked by the time she returns to the flat. 

It’s never bothered her before, the evidence of her physical exertion— lord knows she at least didn’t smell like some of her men on the harder Shoreline jobs— but being around Chloe and not in the middle of mud and ruins makes her a bit more self-conscious, so she hops into the shower as soon as possible. 

Except today, Chloe is awake and moving earlier than usual, and is leaving the bathroom as Nadine walks in, wrapped in a (very short, dear god,) towel, beads of water trailing down her neck and into her cleavage. 

_Fucking_ hell. 

“Oh, the water’s probably gone cold, I’m sorry, love. Didn’t mean to ruin your schedule.” 

Nadine should probably say something, instead of staring open-mouthed. That would be a great idea right about now. 

“No, it’s alright, I can just shower at the gym next time—” 

“No!” Chloe practically shouts, before lowering her tone. “I mean, ugh, those places are filthy, you don’t need bloody athlete’s foot on top of everything else.” 

“You make a fair point,” Nadine shrugs, and Chloe slides past her, tossing her a towel from the linen closet. 

The cold shower is serendipitous, actually. 

(Chloe doesn’t need to know that.) 

_

It’s surprisingly easy to fall into a cozy routine of domesticity; Nadine cooks dinner (grocery shopping in a new place is always a delightful novelty) most nights while Chloe gathers notes, emails her contacts in Denmark and Sweden. They plan the trip while they eat, and then trade war stories on the couch until Nadine gets sleepy. 

“So,” Chloe drawls (Nadine’s always wondered how to properly phoneticize the Australian accent there— ‘soooerrrrr?’) “That scar on your neck… what’s the story there?” 

“Got caught off guard on my first mission as a lieutenant. Learned my lesson.” 

“I’d hate to see the other guy,” Chloe laughs, “Don’t cross Ross, indeed.” 

“Oh, he’s dead,” Nadine deadpans. 

“Figured that, love. I know you’re not the type to forgive and forget.” 

“Except with you, apparently,” Nadine rolls her eyes. 

“Lucky me,” Chloe grins, before… lifting up the hem of her shirt? 

For a moment, Nadine is afraid she’s in the middle of a really weird sex dream, but no, Chloe’s drawing her attention to a faint raised line across her stomach. 

“Only fair, I saw yours, now I’ll show you mine. Slipped on a free climb up a castle wall in my younger days; caught myself but snagged most of my torso on a sharp rock edge.” 

Nadine resists the urge to trace it with her fingers. 

Chloe’s stood up on her knees, displaying the scar, and as she lowers her shirt, she topples a little. Instinctually, Nadine reaches out to hold onto her hip and steady her. 

Chloe gasps when the rough pads of Nadine’s fingers meet the smooth skin there, going suddenly stock-still. 

“You can let go of me now, Nadine,” she whispers. 

But Nadine knows when she has an advantage. When to take ground and when to cede it. 

“Do you want me to?” 

Chloe starts shaking her head “No,” starts leaning in closer, and Nadine can’t believe it could be this easy, this instantaneous, when Chloe’s phone rings. 

“I should get that,” Chloe murmurs, making no move to extract herself from Nadine’s grasp just yet. 

The ringing continues, insistent, breaking the delicate tension between them in the worst way. 

Chloe scrambles to answer the call, putting more distance between herself and Nadine as she picks up the phone. Her skin is still slightly flushed, her eyes a little wide. 

“Yeah, Sam, what is it,” she demands, exasperated.

(Figures he’d be a third wheel even from thousands of miles away.)

Chloe’s not on speaker this time, but Nadine can hear enough through the muffled earpiece to deduce that a) Sam still wants in on whatever their next find is and b)Chloe makes him stay at a hotel when he’s in London, a fact he does not appreciate. 

“First of all, Sam, my flat’s never been cleaner. Ross doesn’t leave beer cans and pizza boxes everywhere, and she doesn’t try to pass my flat off as her own when she’s trying to impress women that are _way_ out of her league.” 

(There’s clearly a story there, although Nadine’s not exactly keen to hear it.) 

Sam mumbles something that sounds a lot like “that’s because she’s too busy making heart eyes at _you_ ,” and Nadine decides she’s officially had enough of overhearing this conversation, gesturing to Chloe that she’s heading in for the night, while Chloe mouths “sorry” and rolls her eyes at Sam’s complaining. 

_ 

Over coffee the next morning, Nadine makes a choice. If there’s one thing she can’t stand, it’s being the butt of a joke, and knowing that Sam sees fit to mock her staying here is reason enough to leave. 

“Listen, Chloe, I think it’s time I find my own place, yeah?” 

Chloe pouts into her mug. Her hair is still sleep-mussed, her eyelids heavy, but she perks up defensively in response to Nadine’s suggestion. 

“Why? I thought we had a good thing going here! Am I keeping you up? I’m happy to try and match your schedule better, honestly. Wouldn’t kill me to try to be a morning person at my big age.” 

Chloe looks… sad, like she’s done something wrong, and Nadine wants to explain, _no, you see, I simply can’t get over my crush on you if I’m seeing you half-naked every other day, it’s totally my fault,_ but says instead, “I feel like I’m a bit too old to be living with a roommate, is all.” 

Now Chloe’s sorrow turns indignant. 

“What, so it’s fine for two adults to live together as long as they’re having sex–” 

“ _Chloe._ ” 

“— if you want to have sex, we can have sex, love, wouldn’t be any trouble on my part.” 

Nadine scoffs. 

“No thanks, I’m trying to _keep_ our partnership.” 

And there it is: the full weight of all her insecurities compounded by a couple months’ worth of unresolved sexual tension. 

Chloe raises an eyebrow. 

“Oh, so we’re _talking_ , talking about this, huh? What, Ross, am I too slutty for you?” 

Nadine’s not sure which stings more, the use of her last name or the accusation that she’d judge Chloe like that. But she’s been conditioned to lash out when her pride is wounded, and she can’t slow herself down enough to stop a reflexive retort. 

“I’m just saying, your track record of mixing business and pleasure doesn’t seem to have ended in anything remotely resembling a successful relationship.” 

Chloe’s face falls, and while anger flashes behind her eyes, she steels herself before responding. 

“Did it ever occur to you, Nadine, that I didn’t _want_ one? I mean— _clearly_ it would be different with you, Jesus.” 

Nadine takes a sip from her mug, the coffee gone cold and bitter. 

“Why’s that?” 

Chloe looks at her for a moment, searching, before shaking her head, deciding not to tread down that path today. 

“Look, you want to get your own place, that’s grand, but we leave for the Arctic in two days so just try your best to hold tight until we get back. I hope I don’t _inconvenience_ you too much, love.” 

Nadine tries to eke out an apology but Chloe is already walking past her, slamming the door to the bathroom and cranking the shower up so the water drowns out any possible sound of her voice. 

  
This trip is going to go _great_ , no doubt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god one chapter left i swear they're gonna fuck eventually


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe and Nadine explore the arctic, punch nazis, and finally admit they're in lurrrrveeeee. something for everyone!!
> 
> (in which: we earn that M rating, baybeeee)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: mention of white supremacists/racist beliefs. 
> 
> (also, i have no idea of the treasure plot is remotely believable but yanno, fic is free and it's all really just an excuse to smash my chloe and nadine barbies together.)

The last two days before their departure are spent studiously avoiding one another save for talking logistics. Chloe throws cold-weather gear at her, complaining about how she couldn’t find a red parka to save her life, and they pore over maps and scans of historical texts, charting the alleged path of Leif Erikson’s alleged treasure. 

Despite the day prior’s tension, they fall back into a companionable rhythm, mapping out their route (Iceland first, to finalize the historical background, then Greenland to track down the actual treasure, purportedly gold from Erikson’s expedition to current-day Newfoundland). The lore of it all doesn’t really hold Nadine’s interest, but Chloe delights in the people behind her finds, the drama and bloodlust of Erik the Red, how a family history of exile became one of exploration. 

In another life, Chloe would’ve been a professor. (Or maybe an actress— there’s a mesmerizing quality to her storytelling; Nadine sometimes feels like she ought to pay admission for the privilege of watching her narration.) 

But in this one, she’s a thief, so she sorts the fantastical legends and plausible treasure locations while Nadine lines up the practical things: snowmobiles, icepicks, guns once they get to Cape Farewell, MREs. 

Nadine risks a peace offering, bringing Chloe coffee in bed in the morning before they head out for their flight. 

“Wow, never had room service here. Finally living in the lap of luxury and you’re making me leave?” 

“Well if you’re not caffeinated you’ll never get out the door,” Nadine jokes. 

Chloe props herself up on an elbow to take a sip from the mug. The collar of her t-shirt is askew, revealing a taut shoulder and graceful collarbone. 

Nadine forgets how to form words for a moment, before remembering her purpose for coming in the room in the first place. 

“I um… I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I let my own issues spill onto you and that’s not fair.” 

Chloe pushes her bangs aside (after trying, unsuccessfully, to blow them out of her face) and meets Nadine’s gaze. 

“Water under the bridge, alright? Think we were a bit overdue for a quarrel to be honest.” 

“Still…” Nadine sighs. “I don’t think you’re... “ 

Chloe smirks. 

“A loose woman of ill repute?” 

“Oh, no, you’re definitely that,” Nadine laughs. “But you have my respect. In all ways. And I didn’t want you to think otherwise.” 

Chloe shrugs, hoisting herself into an upright sitting position. 

“Just means I’m entitled to backslide a bit into being a selfish dickhead again as retribution. I’m okay with that, china.” 

Nadine rolls her eyes and tries to avoid looking at Chloe’s bare legs too obviously. 

(It’s a paltry silver lining to an arctic expedition: no cause for getting distracted by Chloe’s body when they’re wearing half a dozen layers.) 

_

They take a commercial flight to Reykjavik; Chloe snoozes a little on Nadine’s shoulder and the flight attendant smiles warmly at her. 

“We get a lot of newlyweds on this route, but you two might be the cutest couple I’ve ever seen.” 

Nadine coughs so hard she wakes Chloe, but manages to eke out a polite “thanks” to the well-meaning woman. 

Chloe has the nerve to look affronted at the interruption to her cat nap. 

Nadine sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“ _ What _ did you tell them?” 

Chloe grins devilishly. 

“That we’re on our honeymoon, love, I hear Iceland is  _ incredibly _ romantic this time of year.” 

“You’re incorrigible.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, all of a sudden you don’t believe in having a good cover story?” 

“Yeah, well it’s got to be  _ believable _ .” 

“Please. We look amazing together. And we already bicker like we’ve been together fifty years!” 

“Sure, but you? Married? Would never pass the sniff test.” 

“Tell that to the honeymoon suite I booked us.” 

“Chloe, we’re supposed to _ make _ money on this trip.” 

“Have a little faith in me, sweetheart. Private buyer this time, no armies or mercenaries blocking our path, except for a minor risk of frostbite it’s in and out, yeah? Might as well have a big old bed to sleep in at the end of it all.” 

Nadine abandons the argument and Chloe resumes using her as a pillow. 

_ 

When they land in Iceland, they split up for a bit– Chloe goes to meet some professor who specializes in the sagas that told of Leif Erikson’s discoveries, Nadine touches base with her contacts to make sure they’re good to go for the hard part of the trip (namely, taking a tiny plane to Greenland, traveling inland to the ice sheet, and navigating the barren wasteland to find the heretofore unsubstantiated treasure). 

It’s evening when Chloe meets her at a small cafe, insisting they get a good meal in before resigning themselves to a few days of nutrient-dense and flavor-light fare. 

“Dr. Guðmundsdóttir basically said that everyone pretty much accepted the allusions to treasure in the Sagas were exaggerations, and no one’s ever been stupid enough to go far enough inland to search for them.” 

“So, either we’re lucky, or idiotic.” 

“Listen, babe, I’m gonna get lucky one way or another, mark my words.” 

“What about what Drake was saying, about white supremacists?” 

“Oh, right, yeah, the only other people foolhardy enough to look for this shit are a bunch of nazi metalheads who associate paganism with toxic masculinity and rasicsm. Truly awful music, I unfortunately did a bit of research there.” 

“Thanks for sparing me that.” 

“Honestly, the sacrifices I make in silence are incredible, truly.  _ Anyway _ , one of the symbols we’re looking for, the Valknut, is very popular with these fellas; they think the treasure is tied to some sort of power, and will draw people into their movement.” 

“So if we happen to run into them we beat their asses?” 

“Precisely,” Chloe laughs. “They’re probably armed, but not disciplined. We’ve got the tactical advantage even if we’re outnumbered. God it’ll feel good to steal that gold right from under their noses.” 

They finish their food, and Nadine feels warm and tired and happy. 

Chloe drives them to the hotel, catching Nadine’s glance in her peripheral vision as they navigate the streets of Reykjavik. 

“Feels good to be back at it, yeah?” 

“Ja,” Nadine nods, noting how her body feels more settled than it has in weeks, even if they’re on the precipice of potential danger. Whatever else about their relationship confuses her, she can’t deny that she and Chloe work very well together. 

When they finally check into the hotel, Chloe hams it up for the receptionist, spinning a yarn about their absolutely beautiful wedding ceremony, and how Nadine really deserved a break from her taxing job as an accountant and they were just  _ so _ looking forward to their stay. 

“An accountant, really?” Nadine scoffs as she carries both of their bags into the elevator. 

“An accountant who’s passionate about weightlifting in her spare time! Had to think of some boring job to explain the stick up your bum.” 

“And what do you do for a living in this scenario? How did we meet?” 

“Yoga teacher. You saw me in the gym and it was love at first sight.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Nadine rolls her eyes, as if she’s never imagined meeting Chloe under different (normal) circumstances. 

(She has. It’s better than counting sheep, most nights.) 

Chloe unlocks the door to their room, letting out a low whistle as she takes in the king-size bed. 

“God, I think it’s bigger than my entire flat.” 

“Good to know you won’t be able to kick me in your sleep.” 

“Is that a challenge? Sounded like a challenge.” 

Chloe’s voice is muffled by the fabric of her shirt coming up over her head (she’s already half undressed and headed for the shower, because of course she is.) 

Nadine lays out her things for the next day, prepares herself mentally. Half of her wants to say to hell with the treasure, they can stay in this stupidly expensive room and eat room service and pretend they’re fucking newlyweds for three days,  _ then  _ go back to real life, whatever that is, but she knows that Chloe’s reckless love of adventure is why she’s here in the first place,  _ pining. _

Chloe comes out of the bathroom with her hair wrapped in a towel, oversized red t-shirt and nothing else on. 

Nadine takes her place, scrubs away the day until her skin feels squeaky to the touch and the water begins to run lukewarm. 

She takes her time afterwards, moisturizing her skin and wrapping her hair. Compensating for the arid cold, sure, but also buying herself some extra minutes, hoping that Chloe will be asleep, or at least under the covers, that she won’t have to work so hard not to break the magic bubble of being on a job again. 

Chloe opens one eye lazily when she walks back into the bedroom, clad in old, worn sweatpants and a tank top. There’s one lamp left on to guide her way, and in its soft glow, Nadine sees the faint creases around Chloe’s eyes, the markers of the handful of years she has on Nadine. 

“I like you like this,” Chloe mumbles, reaching out a hand to touch Nadine’s bare arm, rubbing in a spot of lotion she missed, inhaling the scent of shea butter. 

“Like what?” 

“Gentle,” Chloe yawns, patting the bed beside her. “Feels like a little secret I get to keep.” 

_

Everything about the first day of the expedition goes  _ swimmingly, _ which maybe should’ve been an indication that things were going to take a turn. Charter flight to Greenland: check. Using a compass to traverse the ice shelf and navigate towards the location of the treasure site: check. Even camping out in dangerously cold temperatures is fine, actually, with the best of modern technology. 

Day two, using the short amount of daylight (why didn’t they do this in summer? Chloe’s got some explaining to do), they find the natural formations that evoke the Valknut, and trigger ye old hidden passage into the side of a glacier (made slightly more difficult by the passage of a millenium and the advent of catastrophic climate change, but it wouldn’t be fun if it were easy, would it?) and happy day, they’re the only one’s there. 

In fact, it’s a real quick in-and-out to grab the gold, no real labyrinths or riddles once inside, just a few hollowed out rooms inside the glacier and some sculptures depicting Norse gods. But once they begin their exit, a group of a dozen angry men pull up to their location, revving their snowmobiles unnecessarily and aiming their guns. 

The other thing about the whole straight-forward-ice-chamber thing is there aren’t many places to hide. 

Wordlessly, they opt to feign surrender, hands in the air as the group approaches. 

“Listen, fellas, let’s work this out,” Chloe opens with, because she’s not yet been in a situation she couldn’t talk herself out of. 

“You’ve got something that belongs to us,” the man who appears to be the leader snarls. “The greatness of the vikings will return.” 

“God, these men and their dynasties,” Chloe whispers through the corner of her mouth. 

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now.” He shuffles his gun from hand to hand (awful trigger discipline, Nadine notes), and his lackeys follow suit. 

Yeah. Fuck this shit. 

“I don’t reason with fascists,” Nadine shouts, lunging forward and disarming him with one hand, unholstering her pistol with the other and taking down 4 of the other men. Chloe fires off 6 perfect shots in rapid succession. The disarmed man looks at Chloe as she reloads. 

“It’s not too late for you to join us, embrace the power of a pure future.” 

“Sorry mate, I’m half-Indian, and you can get fucked,” Chloe retorts, before shooting him right in the heart. 

There’s now only one man left, clearly outnumbered and outgunned, who looks at Nadine with pure hatred in his eyes. 

He glances between Nadine and Chloe for a split second, gauging his next move, before lunging towards Chloe, his movement displaying the sharp glint of a knife. 

Time freezes. 

The thing about mercenaries— they don’t, as a rule, glorify sacrifice. 

Nadine had considered herself a good leader, all in all, but she never would’ve taken a bullet for her men. A job is a job, not a  _ raison d’etre _ . 

She jumps in front of the knife, redirecting the blow so it slices across her shoulder instead of plunging into Chloe’s chest. 

As she takes the guy down, Chloe gets the headshot. 

(They really  _ do _ work well as a team.) 

It occurs to Nadine after a moment that: a)her many layers of outerwear now have a hole in the upper arm and b)that hole is bleeding quite a lot, actually. 

Chloe notices it too, when she steps away from the body; it keeps flowing out onto the ground, unlike the spatter that covers the rest of her clothing. 

“Shit! Nadine! What the _ hell  _ were you thinking?” Chloe takes off her parka and sheds one of her underlayers, turning it into a makeshift bandage, pinning Nadine to the floor with her legs and applying firm pressure to the wound. 

“Not quite the way I imagined you’d be straddling me,” she hisses through clenched teeth, suddenly very aware of the pain of having a knife cut through several layers of skin and probably a bit of muscle too. 

“Yeah, well, you know, I didn’t factor in knives when planning on this trip. I was going to get us a payday, take you to see the Northern Lights, tell you how I feel about you, properly, and god willing, it’d all end in a bit of hotel sex.” 

“Hotel sex? Really?” 

“Honestly, Nadine, if you don’t appreciate the joy of hotel sex, maybe it’s better off that this trip went fully sideways.” 

“Go back.” Nadine’s feeling a touch woozy, but she’s determined not to lose her train of thought. “How do you feel about me?” 

“You’re really going to make me say it?” 

Nadine says the only thing that comes to mind, which is: “I’ve been staring at your ass since the moment we met.” 

Chloe laughs, but it comes out sounding a lot like a sob. 

A nap sounds really good about now. 

Chloe must not like that Nadine’s closing her eyes, because her voice is louder and closer. 

“Darling, I need you to stay with me. Nadine? I need you to stay awake, because I love you, okay? I’ve loved you since the moment you jumped in that bloody jeep with me to face down Asav and we didn’t die then, so you’re not going to die now, yeah? I’ve got a lot of plans for you, love. A lot. Of plans.” 

Chloe sounds scared, and Nadine hates that. She hates it more than she likes the feeling of letting go, resting for just a bit, so she opens her eyes. 

Chloe kisses her forehead, her cheeks, her mouth, her chin. It’s a compulsion, a way to reassure them both she’s still here, still fighting. 

“Sorry about that,” Nadine whispers, when she feels like she can talk again. 

“No worries,” Chloe rolls her eyes through tears. “But I feel like we ought to get out of here, if you think you can.” 

Chloe tries to insist that they forget about the treasure, that they just get Nadine back to civilization as quickly as possible, but if Nadine’s going to have a fucking stab wound from a neonazi, she’s not going to go home empty handed. 

Chloe makes sure the hidden passage closes behind them as they return to the ice shelf, muttering something about how in the rare event anyone else ever comes here and finds the bodies it will probably look like a cult ritual sacrifice, but on the downside the bodies will definitely be preserved unless the glaciers melt. 

She adds one more layer of fabric to the bandage, wrapping it tight, before securing the gold to the snowmobile and then literally tying Nadine to her, wrapping rope around both their waists. Chloe drives all night, using the compass and their tracks in to guide the way. Nadine thinks she sees polar bears at one point, but she also thinks hallucinations after the amount of blood she lost would not be unreasonable. 

The cloudy skies from the night before are clear now. The northern lights are, in fact, stunningly beautiful. 

For many reasons, Nadine is glad to be alive. 

_ 

They reach civilization again not long after sunrise. Chloe buys them a shitty room in a cheap hotel, along with a handle of vodka and something vaguely resembling a hot meal. 

“Alright love, let’s get you out of these clothes, yeah?” 

It’s decidedly not sexy. 

It fucking hurts, for one. The wound is gory, and starting to get infected. 

Hence the vodka. 

Nadine bites down on a belt so she doesn’t scream, takes a beat to catch her breath and then bites down again when Chloe gives her stitches with supplies from the med kit. She thinks it takes 12, but she might have passed out for a little bit. 

“I know it’s not ideal, honey, but traditional medical care when you’ve got illicit antiquities on hand… not always the best route.” 

“I’ve had worse nights, believe me,” Nadine grunts. 

“I won’t ask,” Chloe smiles, and maybe it’s the swig of Vodka she took to ease the external burn, but her eyes are overwhelmingly fond. 

“So,” Nadine sing-songs. “You mean all that stuff you said? When I was losing all that blood?” 

“Ah, here I was thinking you’d forget and I could keep my badass image. Fuck me.” 

“Once my arm heals,” Nadine nods, serious. 

“Yeah, I meant it,” Chloe pushes Nadine’s hair out of her eyes, runs a cool washcloth across her forehead, wiping away the clammy sweat that’s gathered there. 

“When you said it would be different with me…” 

“‘Fraid so, love. You’ve thoroughly ruined Chloe Frazer for the free-wheeling, free-loving lifestyle. But I understand if that ruins this arrangement for you.” 

Nadine pouts, annoyed at Chloe trying to give them both an out. (And drunk. Pretty drunk, at this point.) 

“Chloe, I jumped in front of a knife for you.” 

“You’d do that for Sam.” 

“No. I wouldn’t. We both know I wouldn’t. In fact, the only reason I _ would _ would be if I thought it was what  _ you _ wanted.” 

“Well, for the record, I don’t think I actually would. No offense to Sam, but you’re currently a higher priority. I would be  _ very _ sad if he died, but you know, losing you would bloody devastate me.” 

Nadine can live with that answer. 

“Listen, I know I’m kind of disgusting and a little tipsy and probably still very much in physical shock, but.. Could I kiss you? Properly?” 

Chloe smiles, and she looks exhausted and beautiful. 

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

It’s not a good kiss— their lips are both chapped (and Chloe had busted hers somewhere in the shootout); Nadine’s mouth feels dry and heavy and it doesn’t move the way she wants it to, but she can feel Chloe’s closeness, taste underneath everything else something particular to Chloe. 

Pulling away, she notices colors in Chloe’s eyes she’s never seen before. 

“I’m sorry you wasted all the money on that honeymoon suite.” 

Chloe laughs, and this time, no sobs are detected. 

_

They do, afterall , make it back to the honeymoon suite, because: a) it’s a helluva lot cleaner than where they’ve stopped in Greenland, b) Chloe has a random doctor contact in Reykjavik who can look over her work (and give them stronger painkillers, though Nadine insists on no opioids— they make her weepy and miserable and she’s no stranger to a bit of physical discomfort), and c) Chloe’s paid for another night and they have to stay  _ somewhere _ before flying back to London. 

(They also have to secure the passage of the treasure to its buyer, but Chloe insists she’s got that taken care of, nothing to worry about on Nadine’s end but recovery.) 

Chloe’s gone for a few hours, and Nadine sleeps, mostly, because her body is still angry at her for putting it through the ringer. 

Chloe returns bearing sandwiches and snacks, walking with the pep in her step that means she both sorted out her buyer and already has the find on its way out of the country, evading customs without a care in the world. 

“You hungry, love?” 

Nadine stretches a bit, wincing at the soreness. She feels like her whole body is covered in dust. 

“I would kill for a shower.” 

“Well, I’ll let you have the first one then, won’t even take your hot water. You need any help?”

Nadine wants to say _ no, of course not _ , but as she reaches up to take down her ponytail, her arm says otherwise. 

“Yeah… I might… I’d really love to wash my hair.” 

“Then wash your hair we shall,” Chloe shrugs, stepping out of her boots and shedding her jacket. “I’m assuming you brought your own products?” 

“Always. Front pocket of the suitcase.” 

“On it,” Chloe mumbles, dropping to a squat to find shampoo and conditioner. 

(She’s really good at squatting. Like, the  _ best _ .) 

“Learned this one from my first couple tattoos,” she mutters, busting out a roll of cling wrap and setting it aside. “That’ll keep your wound covered once we get you out of your kit.” 

She lets Nadine take off the easier bits of clothing, stepping in only as needed to gingerly slide her sleeves down her arm, otherwise disrobing herself. 

“Red lingerie, really?” 

“I told you I had a  _ plan, _ Nadine. I mean, who can say no to _ this? _ ” 

She does a little shimmy, ample cleavage spilling out over the cups of the bra, and yeah, maybe she has a point there. 

She helps Nadine out of her sports bra (commenting “I don’t say it enough, darling, you’ve got a  _ gorgeous  _ back”) and turns on the water, divesting herself of the last of her clothes. As it warms, she gingerly wraps Nadine’s bicep in cling wrap, circling it a few extra times for good measure. 

“It’s a look, huh,” Nadine jokes. 

“Scars are sexy.” Chloe draws her gaze across the faded line from Nadine’s neck to sternum, and Nadine feels the skin there prickle in response. 

It’s practical for the first part, the whole sharing a shower bit (although they’re lucky in that this one is larger than most, by virtue of the pricetag of the room). They lather up with soap and rinse their bodies in silence (and yeah, Nadine knows Chloe’s sneaking glances at her, but she can live with that at this point). 

Chloe gently touches her shoulder, before squeezing shampoo into her palm. 

“Ready?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

Chloe stands behind her, gently massaging the shampoo into her scalp, her light but confident movements subtly encouraging Nadine to lean back into her touch. 

Chloe presses closer as she lathers the shampoo, careful to avoid Nadine’s injury. Nadine feels the softness of her breasts against her back, the slight drag of her hard nipples as she moves to work the shampoo through all of Nadine’s hair, before rinsing and repeating the process with conditioner. 

It is excruciating and wonderful, to have her so close, bare skin touching bare skin. 

  
  


Chloe steps back, admiring her handiwork. 

“All done.” 

Nadine turns around, letting the spray from the shower run down her torso. Chloe follows the paths of the droplets, her eyes gone dark and lovely. 

  
  


Nadine steps closer, and Chloe’s eyes widen for a moment, before she smiles and leans into the kiss, wrapping an arm around Nadine’s neck and bringing her in close. 

This time, things  _ click  _ when their lips meet; a lock picked open. The chemistry between them ignites from sparks to a wildfire, and Nadine is halfway to pinning Chloe against the wall and making her scream, before realizing her body will not cooperate. 

“Fuck. I don’t think I can pull this off without ripping some stitches. “ 

Chloe shuts off the water, kisses Nadine on the forehead, like it’s nothing, like it’s something she’s been doing every day for a decade. 

“Let’s get a new bandage on you, then we can re-evaluate.” 

They towel off, and Chloe carefully removes the cling wrap from Nadine’s arm, cleaning the wound once more with hydrogen peroxide and applying a wrapping of fresh gauze, several layers thick. She guides Nadine to the bed, laying her towel behind her (“ _ In case my beautiful work should come undone _ ”), and stepping out of her own. 

Chloe is a goddamn vision. She hovers over Nadine, and Nadine lets her eyes trace every curve— the sway of her breasts, the gentle slope of her stomach; the grace of her hips, even in stillness. 

She’s the epitome of a _ woman _ , and Nadine feels small but safe under her weighty gaze. 

“I really don’t think I’ll be able to reciprocate; I’m shit at using my right hand.” 

Chloe laughs, clearly unbothered. 

“I just want to take care of you, darling. Will you let me?” 

Nadine nods, propping herself to kiss Chloe again, feeling how their bodies fit together. 

Chloe maps Nadine’s torso with her hands, from the scar on her neck down to the muscles of her abdomen. The callouses on her fingertips from scaling cliff faces catch against the sensitive skin of Nadine’s nipples; she gasps and cants her hips upward, grinding against Chloe’s thigh. 

“You are,” Chloe purrs, “the  _ absolute _ loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.” 

And of course Chloe  _ gets _ it, that for all Nadine loves being the muscle, the intimidator in life, here she wants to be soft and open and more than a little easy. 

Her mouth replaces her hands on Nadine’s breast and the hours Chloe spends talking have truly paid off, such is her dexterity with her tongue. She continues her journey lower, her destination obvious, but Nadine stops her before her head reaches her thighs. 

“Not yet; I mean, not this time?” 

“Of course, love,” Chloe assents, clearly just happy-as-all-get-out to be here. “Can I use my hand on you?” 

Nadine nods, spreading her legs a little wider, her face flushing with arousal and embarrassment as Chloe skirts her fingertips from the tops of her thighs to her center, parting her gently. 

“Oh darling, you are  _ so _ good,” Chloe hums, rocking herself a bit against Nadine’s thigh in response to what she feels. 

She’s gentle with Nadine, dragging her fingertips through wetness and circling her clit; always just a bit less pressure than Nadine would use on herself, until Nadine’s chasing her touch with her hips, biting back cries of frustration and need. 

(She doesn’t even feel her wound anymore; all the blood in her body is being used elsewhere it would seem.) 

“That’s it sweetheart, let me hear you,” Chloe nudges her on, speeding up the pace of her movements and adding just enough friction to topple Nadine over the edge. She comes with a gasp and a shudder, gripping Chloe by the wrist when her movements are too much, her skin too sensitive for any more contact. 

“Sure you don’t want to go for a double?” Chloe raises an eyebrow, keeping her hand close to Nadine. 

“Not unless you’re trying to kill me, which would’ve been easier to do yesterday, I think.” 

“No, love, I need you to stick around and recover so you can make good on that left arm of yours.” 

“Well, you know, I’m sure all the blood flow and oxytocin from that orgasm just accelerated the healing process; well played.” 

“You caught me,” Chloe smiles, stretching before planting another firm kiss on Nadine’s cheek. She says something about finally eating dinner, but Nadine’s spent in more ways than one, and is in a happy sleep before she can second guess herself. 

She wakes alone, and for a moment fears the worst, that Chloe has abandoned her (which,  _ real _ selfish dickhead move considering everything else that’s happened) and devolved to her love-em-and-leave-em days. But then the door to the room clicks open, and Chloe tiptoes in, trying both not to wake her or spill the coffees she’s carrying. 

“Thought you deserved to have someone else make the coffee. Wasn’t me, mind you, but, you know, still very nearly what you deserve.” 

“I like making you coffee,” Nadine shrugs, accepting the cup anyways. “It makes me feel useful.” 

“I’ve got a whole lot more uses for you now,” Chloe drawls, before scowling at Nadine’s bandage. “If I hadn’t already killed the guy who did that I’d kill him again, just for depriving me of Nadine Ross, in all her naked glory.” 

“It’ll be worth the wait, I promise,” Nadine rolls her eyes. 

“I’m pretty demanding in bed,” Chloe pouts, blowing on her coffee to cool it. 

“You can be as selfish as you want when I’m inside you,” Nadine deadpans. 

This time, it’s Chloe’s turn to cough and sputter. 

_

They end up with the same flight crew on their trip back to London; the attendant winks when Chloe shows Nadine to her seat with a quick kiss. 

“I still can’t believe you did that,” Nadine sulks, unable to stay too mad at the lie. 

“Told you I was gonna get lucky, one way or another,” Chloe waggles her eyebrows. 

From her best guesses, Nadine assumes she probably has a week until she can bear weight on her left side, and the wound is fully closed. While she could probably avoid temptation fine on her own, being in Chloe’s flat together is closer to an interminable edging experience. 

“Can’t I just like, go down on you and touch myself?” Chloe offers, as they watch Planet Earth one night after dinner. 

“It’s not that I don’t want you, Chloe,” Nadine reassures her, “I would just really rather wait until we’re evenly matched.” 

“How internally ableist of you,” Chloe huffs. “You know that getting you off gets _ me _ off, right?” 

_ “Please _ ,” Nadine begs, “Just humor me this once. The next time my dominant arm gets fucked up you’re more than welcome to go to town.” 

Chloe relents, silently propping up her legs on Nadine’s lap and accepting a one-handed foot-rub by way of apology. 

It’s a bit weird, to go so directly into playing house like this, but then it’s not, because it’s  _ Chloe, _ and they’re either trauma bonded or meant for each other, because it’s never been so easy for Nadine with anyone. She starts sleeping in Chloe’s bed, wakes up with their legs tangled together, breathing synced. She memorizes her smell, the quiet exhale of her sleep, the way her feet sometimes reach out in the middle of the night and her toes curl around Nadine’s calf, a reassurance that she’s still there. 

Chloe teases her, spending more time naked (or nearly so) than not, brushing past Nadine closer than necessary when she’s not wearing a bra, turning each and every word and action into an innuendo. 

It’s insufferable. 

Nadine  _ loves  _ her. 

When it’s a bit too much, Nadine encourages her to like, go research their next trip, or call Sam and complain, and Chloe fixes her with a glare. 

“I’m sorry darling, I thought you understood. I’m not doing  _ anything  _ until I get a solid 48 hours in bed with you. I’d recommend you start stretching now.” 

_ 

On the seventh day, Chloe calls in a favor from a ( _ very _ pretty, no Nadine’s not jealous; that would be incredibly immature) local physician friend, who comes to the flat to remove Nadine’s stitches and give her the all-clear. 

“Wow, you did pay attention to me on occasion,” Dr. Huang nods approvingly at Chloe’s work. “Good to know I left a bit of an impression on you.” 

Chloe rolls her eyes, but beams a bit at the praise. 

“Listen Doc, how long ‘til she can f—” 

“ _ Don’t _ ,” Nadine glares, before redirecting her focus to Dr. Huang. 

“Is it okay for me to start working out again? Not lifting heavy, but maybe cardio or kickboxing?” 

Dr. Huang palpates her shoulder, finishes a few range of motion exercises, and then crosses her arms, weighing her assessment. 

“Listen to your body, and remember that pain is a reminder to ease up, but yeah, the wound’s held up well, I don’t think you need to worry about bleeding all over the bedsheets. You gals have fun,” she winks, waving off Chloe’s offer of payment and instead requesting a few specific souvenirs the next time they end up in the Carribean. 

Chloe squeals with glee. 

“I can’t believe it. I actually can’t believe it.” 

“Is this just… how it’s gonna be? You basically letting everyone in the world know we’re together?” 

Chloe flares her nostrils. 

“That’s what got you so ticked off in the first place, huh? You overheard Sam teasing me?” 

Nadine frowns. 

“I don’t like being the butt of a joke.” 

“Well, you’re not. You’re a bloody dream come true and yeah, maybe I’m more inclined to show you off, than not. Can you  _ really  _ blame me?” 

“I’m a private person,” Nadine explains, still bristling at the ease Chloe had with that woman, the ease she has with so many people that Nadine’s never known in her life. 

“I know, love. And whatever boundaries you want to set, with what we tell people, I’ll follow your lead. I promise you don’t have to worry about word getting round. Until you’re ready.” 

Nadine nods, satisfied enough with the answer. 

“Now, southpaw, how about letting me see just what that arm can do?” 

It’s a cheesy awful pickup line, but Nadine doesn’t care; she’s just as hard-up as Chloe at this point, even if she doesn’t announce that at every turn. Just because she can, she picks her up and carries her into the bedroom, Chloe’s delighted laugh reverberating off of the exposed brick walls of the flat. 

Chloe grab’s Nadine’s belt buckle and pulls her down on top of her as Nadine deposits her on top of the bed. 

“Thought you’d want to be on top, control thing and all?”

“Usually, yeah, especially with blokes, but I dunno, I’m kind of into the idea of you pinning me down and whispering dirty things in my ear.” 

And maybe Chloe’s kidding (she’s never really truly kidding; Nadine learned this early on), but if she’s good at one thing, Nadine can follow a fucking direction. 

She takes off her shirt and her belt, while Chloe flings off her own clothes in reckless abandon, leaving them in a sloppy pile on the floor, until she’s bare, chest heaving with anticipation. 

Nadine props herself up on her right arm (thank the lord for one-armed pushups), and gets to work, running her left hand from Chloe’s shoulders to her navel, up the backs of her calves to squeeze that magnificent ass, scraping her nails across her ribcage and caressing the outlines of her breasts, before leaning in close, her breath ghosting across Chloe’s neck. 

“Should I fuck you with my tongue and let you grind against my face, or let you ride my hand until you come around my fingers?” 

“They say,” Chloe pants, “the perfect woman does not exist, and yet, here you bloody are.” 

Nadine nips an earlobe to punctuate Chloe’s response. 

“That wasn’t an answer, Chloe.” 

“Both, fuck, _ both _ , but right now I really want to feel you inside me.” 

Nadine lowers her left hand down the smooth skin of Chloe’s stomach, cataloguing the feeling in her memory, of the touch and sound and scent of this moment. She rubs a thumb across Chloe’s iliac crest, smiling when she whimpers at the touch, before sliding towards the juncture of her thighs. 

She means to tease, to draw it out like Chloe did to her, but Chloe has been painfully patient up to this point, and she grabs Nadine’s hand and guides it exactly where she wants it. 

Nadine’s fingers sink in with no resistance; Chloe is wet and slick and all-enveloping. She squeezes Nadine’s fingers, rocks against her as she crooks them, puts deep pressure just so. 

(In sex and fighting, technique and finesse beat power each and every time, a thing men rarely understand.) 

Chloe opens her eyes, sighs in delicious exasperation at what she finds on Nadine’s face. 

“It’s not fair that you’re this hot when you’re this smug.” 

“Oh, smug works for you, does it?” 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Chloe hisses, biting her lip and bearing down harder, drawing Nadine’s fingers deeper into her. 

The pulse of her clit as Nadine swipes a thumb across it confirms the accuracy of her words, and she’s quickly rewarded with a magnificent stream of curses and whines and maybe Chloe was wrong, maybe 48 hours won’t be enough; better to aim for 72 to be safe. 

Chloe grabs her by the shoulders, pulls her in for a sloppy kiss before Nadine descends upon her neck, biting and sucking and scraping her teeth across Chloe’s pulse point, until she feels the hard squeeze and flutter around her fingers, accompanied by a gush of wetness and a long, deep moan from Chloe. 

They lie like that for a moment, Nadine’s head on Chloe’s chest, counting her heartbeats as Chloe comes back to the present, whimpering in disappointment when Nadine slowly withdraws her fingers and rolls on her side. 

Chloe looks as exhausted as Nadine feels (they really put it all out there; admirable of the two of them, frankly), but beatific joy radiates across her face. 

“What,” she laughs, when Nadine’s awed stare becomes unavoidable.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy.” 

“Hush your mouth,” Chloe laughs, “or I’ll spank you and say mean things to you.” 

“Oh, that sounds kinda fun. Might be into that, if it’s you doing it,” Nadine grins. 

Chloe inhales through her nose, breathing in pride and peace. 

“I am.  _ So _ . Lucky.” 

“Ja. Me, too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for coming on this journey with me! if you want to talk about chlodine on twitter (in 2021? sure! why not!!) my handle is @skatehepburn xo

**Author's Note:**

> i'm too fuckin' lazy to research any actual historical/archaelogical references, so this fic will be heavy on feels, light on adventure. but what greater adventure than navigating the twists and turns of the heart, amirite?


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